


Home Remedies

by merines



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, also this is just really fluffy and sugary i'm sorry, but whatevs, the other three's appearances are kinda short tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merines/pseuds/merines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Harry wants is a fairy tale wedding and a happily ever after. What he got is a sick boyfriend and chicken noodle soup. </p><p>Also known as that mandatory AU where Harry nurses Louis back to good health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Remedies

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the middle of writing the next chapter of a story, but I'm hopelessly stuck on it and I was getting really frustrated so I wrote this to make myself feel better. As always, I don't have a beta so please forgive any and all mistakes. I still can't believe that I'm doing this.

The universe is undoubtedly picking a fight with Harry Styles.

It’s an extremely overdramatic and self-centered idea to have. Normally, Harry would laugh and shake his head in disbelief whenever would complain like this. There are billions of people in the world who each lead very complex and emotional lives, and to think that the figurative manifestation of the universe has decided that he, in particular, needs to have his life ruined is ridiculous. Yet Harry is positive that this is the case because there is no goddamn way this could be happening otherwise. He refuses to believe it.

He has been planning this for months. Not the vague sort of planning, where you have a general idea of what you want to do and just sort of wave your hand and assume everything will go well. No, it has been three months of him obsessively looking at the calendar, cross checking the plans of all their acquaintances, even going to a fortune teller at some point in a fit of panicked desperation. It has been intense and stressful and there is no way he will let anything ruin this for him.

Or that was the plan, anyway, because everything has been ruined forever. And he isn’t usually this theatrical about things, really, which shows that this is very serious. That’s what he thinks, anyway, and he is not really sure why Zayn isn’t agreeing with him right now. It’s pretty frustrating.

“Then sell the tickets,” Zayn says, his tone indicative of just how bored he is of this conversation. “Or give them away. Or light them up and smoke them, I don’t care. It’s not the end of the world, Harry.”

Harry gasps. “You did not just suggest that I turn Robbie Williams tickets into a joint, did you? I did not just hear that.”

“Harry,” Zayn finally puts his phone down. He has been glued to it throughout his entire visit to the flat, texting some random person that Harry didn’t bother to ask about. He is normally much better at being involved with his friends’ lives, but, universe. It’s an emergency.

It takes him a second to realize that train of thought made him completely miss what Zayn just said. The guy is staring at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for some sort of response, and Harry shrugs his shoulders in a vague way that he hopes is an acceptable answer. It isn’t.

Zayn mutters something under his breath that is most likely not flattering. “He got sick, mate. There is nothing you can do about that. So instead of having a panic attack over it, go bring him soup. Or whatever the fuck you two do when you’re alone.”

Well. Well, it’s not like Harry wasn’t already planning on doing that. But he can’t help but feel disappointed about the turn of events. This was it. He was finally going to completely and utterly woo Louis with the most perfect date that has ever happened. They would have a cozy little dinner at this precious restaurant Liam had recommended and afterwards they’d take a romantic stroll. And that would be when Harry suggests that they pass by the arena where the concert is happening; it’s on the way to Ed’s place, so Louis wouldn’t be suspicious until Harry brought out the tickets. And then, then, Harry pops the question. The Question. There is only one question that requires capitalization, and Harry was going to say it, he has been planning on saying it for so long and now Zayn isn’t being supportive of his crisis.

Which is understandable. Harry never actually told anyone the true intentions of this date. They just all assumed he has been trying to make up for the fact that the two didn’t get to spend their anniversary together. And that actually was the plan at first. Harry isn’t exactly sure when things shifted from wanting to have a nice evening out with his boyfriend to proposing, but it might have been somewhere between Louis pressing a kiss to each of his dimples as the rain soaked through their clothing at Leeds and a rather spectacular sexual experience on a golf cart. It’s like all those moments added themselves up, quietly, until the final sum was the realization that Harry wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with this beautiful boy.

A life that has now been put on hold because Louis was too nice and helped changed someone’s tires in a horrible downpour the night before. Now he can barely move to get out of bed, even to use the toilet. When Louis called earlier to cancel their plans, Harry at first thought that his phone was busted until he realized that Louis’ voice simply sounded awful. With a lump in his throat, Harry assured him that everything was fine and that he had nothing planned that couldn’t wait until another day.

Just how dare you, universe. How goddamn dare you.

So now here he is, whining to his best mate because life sucks and there is no such thing as happy endings and why. He blamed the person with the flat tire and wished that Louis just ignored them at first, but that’s mean, and he instantly regretted thinking that. Harry is very much glad that they got out of there safely, and even more so that Louis is wonderful enough to even have helped. Louis is just so, so wonderful, and Harry wants to marry him so badly it physically hurts.

He almost says so out loud, but then he remembers that he never actually told Zayn about this desire. And he doesn’t want to do it now that his plan has been squashed. Maybe after a few days, when the sight of pity on his friends’ faces won’t make him want to crawl underneath his bed and become a hermit. He will let them comfort him with cuddles and back rubs later. Now, he has a sick boyfriend to deal with.

“Thanks,” he calls out to his friend, although he isn’t exactly sure what he is thanking him for because he did nothing. His presence, perhaps. “I’m going to go be a nurse at him. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

Zayn nods, and it looks like that’s all for his response until he gets up and gives Harry a hug. Yes, definitely his presence. “I know you were excited for this, but there will be other concerts. Take care, okay?”

Harry can feel wetness pricking at the corner of his eyes, but he wipes them away before they dare tumble out. He goes to turn away, but an idea hits him at the last second, and he takes the tickets out of his back pocket. Without bothering to explain, he slips them into Zayn’s and bolts out the door before he can hear a single complaint over it. He’s the one who helped Harry get the tickets in the first place, so he should have them now they they have become useless to him.

The way to the shared flat of Louis and Niall is so ingrained into Harry’s mind that he could walk there with his eyes closed. Well, as long as everyone else in the city decided that they would rather spend the day inside. But he learned all the shortcuts and which streets to avoid, and he wonders how did this route become the one he knows best. Sometimes he still gets lost in his childhood home town, but not here, never when he is walking to Lou.

There’s an image in his head of him walking down the aisle to the boy, but he shakes it out before he can let out a strangled cry. They’re not even engaged yet, he can’t be having wedding fantasies now. Especially since he isn’t even sure that Louis will say yes.

And that’s it, to be honest, the reason why Harry is going to mad lengths in order to make this the best proposal to ever happen. Even though they have been dating for a little over a year (fourteen months and two weeks, if he were counting, which he totally isn’t) Louis has never once indicated that he might want to officially spend the rest of his life with his boyfriend. Louis loves him, that is the one thing that Harry is absolutely sure about. But nowadays whenever you mention marriage, Louis will clam up and back away. It’s such a major change from the teen that Harry met, who was completely certain that his future plans involved tying the knot, that he isn’t sure what brought it on. Maybe it’s the idea of getting married to Harry that frightens him.

Okay, he has to stop thinking about this because it is a horrible line of thought.

The outline of the building looms ahead. It’s an older one, with cracked paint and holes in the sidewalk surrounding it, but Harry prefers it to his own. He even considered moving in, but he didn’t want to chase Niall away with the inevitable sappiness that would ensue. Granted, whoever thought of the bright idea to let Louis and Niall even together grossly overestimated their domestic ability. The fridge is permanently trapped in a limbo of not having anything edible between the blond’s constant snacking and Louis never actually using the kitchen. Clothes are left on any surface they can cover, and if Harry didn’t know better he would assume that the two people who live inside really enjoyed having sex all over the place. He tries to imagine the pair leaning in close for a sexy kiss, and bursts out laughing. An older couple gives him an annoyed stare, and he hurries on.

Harry takes the stairs two at a time, almost slipping on the final step. Regaining his balance, he tries to slow down. He won’t be any help to Louis if he breaks his leg on the way to him. Again. Not even bothering to knock, he digs out his key and lets himself in. And he really, really isn’t sure what he had been expecting. Maybe some sort of peaceful atmosphere, medicine on the counter and soothing music from the speakers. Instead, he gets Niall dragging Louis by the armpits towards the bedroom.

“Harry!” he shouts, almost letting go of the fragile luggage.

While this is not the oddest thing Harry was walked in on, he definitely does not appreciate his ill boyfriend being dragged around like a murder victim. “What are you doing?”

Niall has the decency to at least look embarrassed. “I stepped out to buy him some soup. And then I got back and he was passed out in the kitchen.”

Okay, so this isn’t some weird Irish remedy. Right. Harry glances at Louis’ limp form, he has a feeling that the guy had been attempting to make himself his morning tea. It’s practically the only reason he steps foot in the kitchen when he’s on his own. And after an unfortunate incident involving sugar and vodka, he no longer trusts Niall with his tea.

Harry throws his keys and wallet on the counter, not even bothering to see if they actually land on top. Together, he and Niall take their patient back to his bedroom where Harry carefully tucks him in. Niall nervously buzzes around near the bed, constantly asking if there’s anything he can do to help. Any bad feelings Harry had towards him because of this instantly vanish; even if his methods were unorthodox, Niall had been trying to help. He can’t be mad over that.

“Can you make the soup for him? Also bring over some medicine as well,” Harry asks, partly to keep the guy occupied.

It works, and Harry finds himself alone with Louis. And now that he can get a proper look at him, a swell of panic hits him. Harry loves him, adores him, but Jesus, he looks terrible. His skin is worryingly pale, and his breathing sounds off. It takes all his self control not to immediately rush to the hospital, but apparently their neighbor—a nurse—dropped by and said that he should be fine as long as he rests up. Harry questions her medical degree.

Leaning over his body, he brushes some fringe out of Louis’ face. And then he almost topples on top of him in shock; his forehead is warm. Like, ridiculously warm. No one mentioned him having a fever. Harry quickly springs to his feet and runs to the bathroom, wincing at how loud his feet sound against the floor. He remembers a while ago when Niall’s mum had stopped by, that she left some sort of med kit just in case the boys needed it. Unsurprisingly they never touched it after that, but Harry is positive that it’s still around. After some digging through the counters and almost getting crushed by all the junk the two have thrown inside it, he finds it.

Harry returns to the room with the thermometer and is startled to see Louis staring right at him. He waits, to see if it’s one of those moments between sleep and consciousness, when you are vaguely aware that you are awake before drifting off again. But Louis actually sits up so that his back is pressed against the bed’s headboard, and Harry rushes to his side.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, the word barely audible over his rasp. “You’re not Niall.”

Harry smiles. “You’re going to make me jealous, Lou. Talking about other guys when you wake up. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been dragged through hell and back.”

He does not reveal just how close Louis’ remark is to what actually just happened. Instead, he sits at the edge of the bed, turning his body in a way that is somewhat uncomfortable. It’s worth it though. “You’ll get better soon.  Niall’s bringing you medicine, by the way.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, and Harry actually wonders if he managed to fall asleep with his eyes open. Again, stranger things have happened in this flat. But then he reaches over and takes Harry’s hand in his. “I’m sorry,” he says.

When Harry doesn’t show any indication that he knows what he’s talking about, Louis continues. “I know you wanted to go out tonight. I ruined your Saturday—sorry. You can still go out and enjoy yourself. Call Nick or something.”

“No,” Harry says immediately. “I want to spend the day with you. Not Nick, or anyone else.”

“Good. He’s a bit of a tosser,” Louis coughs out the last part, moving over a little so that Harry can settle down next to him. He hesitates halfway through the action though, as if he’s suddenly unsure that his boyfriend wants to cuddle with him while he’s in this state.

“Keep moving,” Harry commands, already settling into the space provided. “It’s not like you have the bloody plague.”

“Feels like it,” Louis moans. “Even my wit’s been affected.”

“What wit?”

“Oi,” Louis yanks at one of Harry’s curls. “Don’t give me cheek when I’m sick. They don’t teach that in med school.”

Harry’s grin widens. “Good thing I’m not a doctor then.”

The two fall silent, but it’s comfortable and familiar and Harry wishes that this point in time can stretch on forever. That in sixty years they will be in this same position, making jokes while just relaxing in bed. Oh, how he wants that. A cough interrupts the vision, and it turns into a particularly bad fit. Harry suddenly remembers the reason he had left the room earlier. Geez, how stupid can he be?

“Put this in your mouth,” he says, ignoring the way Louis waggles his eyebrows at the command. He shoves the thermometer into his boyfriend’s mouth before a lewd comment can fall out of it, and that’s probably not the way you should treat a sick person, but Harry does it with love so that makes it okay. Louis scowls, although he doesn’t do anything to dislodge it, thankfully. After a moment, Harry removes it to have a look and winces when he sees the number. Okay, it’s a lot higher than he was expecting it to be.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Louis asks, attempting to peer over Harry’s shoulders but it seems to take too much effort because he gives up halfway.

“It’s not that bad,” Harry says, but he has never been that good of a liar and the look Louis gives him says that hasn’t changed. He sighs. “It’s terrible. Can we please go to a hospital?”

“I refuse.”

Harry wants to argue, is about to argue, but Niall chooses that moment to waltz back in the room, medicine and soup balancing on top of a tray that Harry didn’t even know they owned. Apparently neither did Louis, because he squints at the setup suspiciously. “The fuck is that, Nialler?”

“Found it under the sink,” he says with a shrug. “Didja know we have shit under there besides pipes?”

Harry thinks they’re joking at first, but Louis honestly looks intrigued at the information. “What kind of shit?”

“Well—”

They never get to find out, as at that second Niall glances at his phone and nearly drops the tray all over Louis’ bed. Harry quickly dives across the sheets and catches it before any damage is done. He really doubts Louis would appreciate having hot soup spilled on him on top of dying from sickness.

“Sorry, lads. I forgot I switched shifts with Jade today. Gonna be late,” he says. And he honestly does look apologetic, like the absolutely last thing he wants to do is leave the two of them while Louis is like this. A swell of love fills Harry, and he wants to grab the blond and give him big, sloppy kisses on both his cheeks. But Niall is already in the hallway, scrambling for his shoes, and Harry figures he can save the smooching for later. It isn’t until he hears a faraway click that he relaxes back to his original spot, the tray in hand.

“Feed me,” Louis prompts in what would normally be a seductive tone but his stuffy nose dampers the effect. Harry still finds it adorable, though, and he stirs the soup with a spoon to try to cool it down.

“Wait,” he says. “I don’t want you to burn your cute little tongue on chicken noodle.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Chicken noodle. Such a cliche. Couldn’t you have gone with something against the sick stereotype, like tomato?”

“But you hate tomato soup.”

“That’s besides the point, Harold.”

Harry has already given up on pointing out that’s not actually his name, and instead focuses on blowing on the food. “Niall is the one who got it for you. Send all complaints his way.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will. Give me a notepad and I’ll start a check list.”

Harry nods, and instead of moving to grab the paper he instead leans in with the spoon full of soup, his free hand hovering underneath it to stop the liquid from dripping onto the comforter. It wouldn’t be the worst thing that has stained these sheets, but Harry is polite and he doubts that Louis would crawl out of bed long enough to let him replace it with fresh bedding. Louis opens his mouth obediently, and he actually smirks when Harry pushes the spoon through his parted lips, like this is the most amusing thing in the world to him. And normally Harry would be a brat and do something like sensually lick the spoon but he figures that is pretty high on the list of stuff you do not do to a sick person. So instead he dutifully feeds his boyfriend while trying his hardest not to giggle over how head over heels he is.

They don’t even make it halfway through the bowl before Louis is pushing it away, whining that if he has another bite then his stomach will explode. Harry doesn’t point that that is practically impossible, but he sets the tray on the dresser next to bed and grabs the medicine. He doesn’t fail to notice the grimace Louis makes.

“Lou,” he warns. “I know you hate it, but you kind of have to take it. It’ll make you feel less like shit.”

“I always feel like shit,” he mutters, but Louis has always been weak to Harry, something he is very much aware of and has used to his advantage since the day they met, so he pops the pills in his mouth and dry swallows. “Ugh. Horrible. I'm never helping someone ever again if this is what I get as thanks.”

Harry just smiles in response, and they both return to their original cuddling position. He really could just stay forever like this, he thinks, and again his heart pangs for his ruined plans. He isn’t sure why he is so married—ha ha—to them, he could always propose another day, but it’s still such a disappointment. Maybe his next idea will even be ten times better than this one. Maybe he can get Obama to help. Okay, so probably not, but that doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t the end of the world. Zayn was right about that, even though his opinion doesn’t really count considering he doesn’t know the full story. But there will be other days, and he should just be happy that he has Louis with him right now. He turns his head, in order to admire the face of his beloved, and is greeted by snot hitting his face as Louis sneezes very loudly.

“Sorry, babe,” Louis sniffs. He reaches over and wipes a booger off Harry’s nose with his sleeve, smiling sheepishly.

Harry tries very hard not to hum the wedding march.

They spend a while like that, just sitting around and joking between Louis drifting in and out of sleep. After about an hour and a half, though, he starts to get agitated. He has never been one to sit still for very long, and apparently being sick has not deterred that personality quirk. “Entertain me,” he demands.

And so Harry scoops him up in his arms and walks them over to the couch. After taking care to cover Louis in a blanket he grabbed from the closet, he turns on the television and pops The Notebook into the DVD player. Louis pouts, as if annoyed by the movie choice, but the way his eyes practically sparkle betrays him. No one loves this terrible film as much as Louis, it’s a proven fact. Scientists researched it and everything. Really.

They’re almost at the part where Louis starts to cry when there’s a knock on the door. Harry manages to disentangle himself from his protesting boyfriend, and goes over to open the door. Liam is on the other side, a look of worry on his face. He goes inside without being invited in, which isn’t actually that weird. They all have keys to each other’s places, so the fact that he even knocks is the really the strange thing, but usually Liam would ask before stepping inside. He looks around the room and doesn’t relax until he spots Louis sitting comfortably on the couch, his eyes intently staring at the screen ahead of him.

“Just dropping by. Zayn wants me to go somewhere with him,” Liam says quickly, as if every second he wastes is one less he can see Louis alive. And Harry thought he overreacted. “How is he?”

Harry thinks about saying he’s alright, but thinks better of it. “Pretty bad. His fever is ridiculous, but it went down some after he napped.”

Liam frowns, his eyes darting from Louis, who remains oblivious on the couch, then back to Harry. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“It was just a date,” Harry shrugs. “There will be more.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says quietly.

Oh. Well, shit, apparently Harry is not as subtle as he thought he is. But it figures that if anyone noticed something was going on, it would be Liam. He always watches the boys so, so carefully that it’s a miracle they can get away with anything with him around. That and the fact that they tend to feel guilty for lying at someone who is the human equivalent of your favorite fluffy animal.

Harry carefully walks back to Louis, and isn’t surprised to find him asleep. His chest rises and falls evenly, and his lips are parted slightly, and Harry just wants to gently kiss them until he feels well again. He doesn’t, and returns back to Liam. “It’s okay. I was probably rushing things.”

Liam really doesn’t look very convinced. “I don’t think you were, mate. You definitely seemed like you knew what you were doing.”

“I just,” Harry starts, and he wonders how he can put all these feelings into words. Explain the way that Louis can both knock all the air out of his lungs and breathe life into him with one smile, and how all Harry wants to do is spend every moment of every day touching him. His lips, his chest, everything. How can he put into words that the first time he saw Louis, back in high school when Louis didn’t have a pencil and he sniped the one in Harry’s hand with a wink, how all that he decided he was going to fall in love with him. And that’s silly, because you don’t pick who you love, but Harry knew right then that this was going to be it. He was hooked from the start.

“I love him,” he finally gets out. “I love him so much, and I want to stay with him forever. I want to adopt babies and shake canes at youngsters after we’ve grown old together. I want everyone to know that he’s mine. Officially. Forever.”

Harry isn’t stupid, he has firsthand experience that getting married does not guarantee a happily ever after. But there isn’t a single doubt in his mind that this won’t work, and oh God, Liam is looking at him with the dopiest smile on his face. Harry is pretty sure he’s blushing.

“I think you know what to do,” is all Liam says. He walks over to where Louis is asleep and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I should go. Zayn’s waiting.”

They hug, and Harry wonders how did he end up with such perfect and wonderful people in his life. What civilization did he save in a past life that let him have so much happiness now? After shutting the door after him, Harry returns back to his position on the couch, careful not to jostle Louis. He switches the television to cable and watches some marathon of an American sitcom he never heard of. When Louis wakes up much later, Harry knows all the characters names and is cackling madly at the screen.

“Oh,” he sobers up when he sees Louis peeking at him from behind his fringe. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.”

“No,” Louis says, his voice dragging from sleep. “I like your voice. Makes me happy.”

Harry smiles so widely that it hurts his face. “You make me happy.”

He thinks back to what Liam had said, of how he knows what to do, and yeah. He does. He reaches for Louis’ hand, squeezing it once he finds it. Louis look down at their linked fingers and frowns, like he’s still worried about infecting Harry with germs. As if to prove that he isn’t concerned, Harry leans over and kisses each of the knuckles on Louis’ hand. He doesn’t move away after, letting his lips ghost along tanned skin for a while before he settles his gaze on Louis’.

“Marry me.”

Louis blinks. His expression goes from startled to confused to fond in a nanosecond. “I’m sicker than I thought. I’m imagining you proposing.”

“I am proposing,” Harry says. “Marry me, Louis Tomlinson. Be Mr. Louis Styles and walk down the aisle with me, and we can have a white picket fence and a dog and a family of four.”

“Pretty sure that’s the American dream,” Louis laughs, “not the British one.”

They’re both quiet then, the only noise coming from the actors on the now forgotten screen. It’s when the laugh track punctures the silence that Louis’ eyes shift from dreamy to focused, and he pokes at the spot where Harry’s dimple is hidden.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Louis bites his lower lip, actually shy for the first time in his life. “Okay. I’ll marry you. I... I've been thinking about it lately, but I didn't think... It's going to be Harry Tomlinson though.”

Eh. They’ll work that out later. For now, they both simply erupt into a fit of giggles, smiling innocently at each other and murmuring things that Louis would normally call gross mush. And, okay, this is nowhere near as extravagant as Harry planned it out to be. There’s no fireworks or overly expensive dinner, and an orchestra isn’t playing a ballad of their love. But, Harry thinks, he likes it better this way.

Louis falls back to sleep immediately after, and Harry carries him back to bed. After carefully tucking him in, he wonders if Louis would even remember this later. The guy is still sick as hell, sporting a too high fever, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he woke up and thought this was all just a delirious dream. Harry realizes he doesn’t mind if that happens, though. At least they were engaged for a little while, and he can do it again another day. Now that he has gotten the words out once, he feels like he can do anything. He knows that he can, as long as Louis is right there with him.

When the next morning rolls around, Louis’ fever has broken. Harry wakes up to him staring intently, his cheek leaning against his open palm. He’s still obviously sick, but this is a good step in the right direction. Maybe he can even walk across the floor without toppling over now? He doesn’t get to ask, though, because Louis chooses that moment to hold his other hand out, fingers spread out as far as they can go. “When are you going to get me a ring? I want a rock the size of Jupiter, babe.”

Harry laughs, even though he knows that he would reach into the sky and pull the entire planet out of the cosmos for Louis if he could. No, he thinks, he can. He can, he can, he can, because Louis is next to him with his runny nose and bleary eyes and Harry can’t imagine anything, or anyone, else he would rather have. And that’s when Louis sneezes on him again.

It is to the surprise of no one when, a week later, it’s Harry huddled in bed with a sore throat and the sniffles. Totally worth it.

 


End file.
